


At Least Keep Your Pants On

by yoshizora



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Pre-Canon, catherine sleeps in the nude bc no one can tell her not to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 16:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: While stopping overnight at an inn, Catherine and Shamir discover their room only has one bed.





	At Least Keep Your Pants On

**Author's Note:**

> inspo by some art by @teir3s on twitter, go check out their cathmirs!!!!
> 
> this takes place only a couple months or so after catherine and shamir have met each other for the first time.

“This… isn’t going to work.”

“Mmh.”

But it’s the only room available in the only inn in the only town within miles, and it’s already dark outside, and they’d already paid for the room and the innkeeper didn’t seem to be in a particularly good mood when he took their money so. Negotiations and refunds are probably out of the question. Maybe they could pester some other guest to switch rooms— no, that’d just be overkill. Or would it?

Probably.

Shamir brushes past Catherine rather brusquely, knocking her against the doorframe. “It’s fine.”

“Ow. A simple _pardon me_ would’ve been enough.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Like hell you are. It’s freezing and this building is probably as old as the monastery.”

Shamir glances over her shoulder, completely unreadable. To be honest, Catherine sort of hates that. What kind of person wears a mask like that and willingly shuts others out, if not to _hide_ something? Just because Shamir technically (“technically”, whatever) has seniority in the Knights’ hierarchy and Lady Rhea had ordered them to embark on this mission together, for whatever forsaken reason, it doesn’t mean Catherine has to trust her.

No, wait, no. They’re _fellow knights._ Trust is a given. They can’t work together if they can’t rely on each other. Every proper knight knows that much of the basics when they’re sworn in.

Then again, Shamir isn’t really like the other knights. And she rarely ever says more than a single curt sentence to Catherine at a time.

Which Catherine sort of hates.

“You’ll freeze to death if you sleep on the floor. Look, the bed’s big enough for the two of us. We’ll just have to suck it up for a single night— is that really the worst thing to deal with?”

“Obviously you’re not terribly keen on the idea, either.”

Obviously.

She shuts the door behind her and sets down Thunderbrand on a dusty table that probably hasn’t been wiped in ages. The room is shabby, and a far cry from the lodgings that Lady Rhea provides for each of the knights. Even the barracks where the squires are put to cramped bunks are more glamorous than this. But it’s just for a night. Tomorrow, they’ll get up nice and early to beat up those bandits who were causing trouble for the nearby church, and then hurry back home so that they won’t have to spare another day.

At least, that’s what Catherine envisions. She isn’t really sure what Shamir is thinking.

“What are you doing?” Catherine sighs, exasperated. Shamir had sat down to begin removing her boots, and to place her jacket on the floor. “I told you, we’ll just share the bed.”

“No.”

“What do you mean _no?!_”

“It’s not that cold.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Can’t you feel the wind blowing through the walls?”

“You can give me the blanket, then.”

“I’m not freezing to death for your sake. Quit being so bullheaded.” Catherine leans down and snatches up Shamir’s jacket, yanking it out of reach when Shamir tries to grab for it. Yet, she doesn’t look angry at all. Only somewhat annoyed, as if she’d just received a small bug bite. She darts around Catherine for another grab, and misses again.

“Look, I get that you hate me—“

“I don’t hate you," Shamir flatly says.

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” She tosses the jacket onto the bedspread. It’s not much of a bedspread, really, just a worn blanket put over a mattress that not even a dog would be comfortable on. “You’ve never dealt with the Faerghus winter, I’ve bet.”

“Dagda had plenty of cold weather.”

“Sure, but the Kingdom gets _really_ cold. Believe me, I grew up in it.” A window of opportunity appears when Shamir approaches the bed to pick up her jacket; Catherine plants a hand upon her back and firmly pushes. Well, more like _shoves._ Shamir hisses when her shin connects with the side of the bed and she stumbles forward, landing on one knee. There’s a proper glare, finally, and Catherine scoffs.

“Get cozy. The temperature’s only gonna get lower the higher the moon rises. _And_ we’ll need plenty of rest to deal with those bandits tomorrow.”

Shamir is still glaring, silent for a long moment, but she finally sighs and shakes her head. “Alright. Fine. But if you kick me in your sleep, you’ll be the one sleeping on the floor.”

“Fine by me. Same goes to you, if you snore.”

So with that compromise, they quietly begin dressing down to turn in for the night. The walls really are thin; they can hear conversations from other rooms, as well as the din of drunkards loitering downstairs for those soggy mince pies that were offered for dinner. The wind, too, whistles between creaky boards, and Catherine is inwardly relieved that there’s no awkward silence to deal with.

She keeps her back turned, though she can hear the rustle of clothing then the snapping of buckles as Shamir removes her pauldron. Then, the bed creaks and the sheets rustle; she must have crawled beneath already.

The bed creaks again as Shamir sits upright.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing.”

Catherine stares at her, searching for any sort of emotion upon her features. Her brow is furrowed, slightly, and she’s frowning, and… is that a bit of color upon her cheeks? It _is_ pretty dark in the room, though. Catherine smiles.

“I always sleep commando. You got a problem with that?”

For the first time since she had met her, Shamir’s expression breaks.

“—Of course I have a problem with that!”

Inexplicably, Catherine suddenly feels like nothing else in the world could make her more pleased at this moment. To think, all it took was a bit of… whatever the opposite of prudence is, to rouse a sort of reaction out of the mysterious, stoic Shamir Nevrand. Oh, this is gold. Catherine is down to her undergarments now, armor and clothes carelessly strewn on the floor. She doesn’t notice the cold air biting at her skin.

“Whoa, I didn’t think you were the shy type. Prudish, maybe…” As she speaks, Catherine casually strips off the last of it, strolls up to the bed, and clambers in beneath the covers before Shamir can protest again.

Maybe she overestimated just how big the bed exactly was. They’re practically shoulder to shoulder like this— until Shamir rolls over, her back facing Catherine.

“Ugh, at least keep your pants on.”

“Haha! Stop whining, at least we’re keeping each other warm for the night. You’ve never slept with anyone before? Shamir?”

No response. Catherine shifts onto her side and prods Shamir’s shoulder.

“Hey. Shamir. Hey. Hey. Answer my question, Shamir.”

“Be quiet. I’m trying to sleep.”

“You’re handling the situation better than I thought. You’ve got a beautiful woman in your bed and you won’t even acknowledge her. But that’s _cold_, Shamir, even if it's honorable.”

“Don’t tell me you’re enjoying this.”

“What can I say? I wanted to get to know you better.” Catherine, now wide awake for better or worse, props herself up on an elbow. “You never talk to me. You never answer my questions. Are you sure you don’t secretly hate me?”

No response again. This time, rather than prodding her shoulder, Catherine cautiously rests her hand upon Shamir’s upper arm, fingers splayed. Her skin has goosebumps. She actually was cold, after all.

“I don’t hate anyone. But I don’t like anyone, either.”

“What about Lady Rhea?”

“That's different. She saved my life and gave me a place to stay.”

“Hey now, there’s one thing we have in common!” Emboldened by the lack of kicking or shoving or actual vitriol in Shamir’s tone, she slowly rubs her hand up and down to smooth down the goosebumps. “And you came from Dagda, right? You’re a far way from home.”

She feels the muscles beneath her hand tense, and Catherine draws away.

“What about you?” Shamir turns over onto her back, eyes glinting in the darkness. “Cassandra.”

People in the other rooms are talking. The guests having their late dinners are so loud. It smells like dust and mothballs and all the oils and scents drifting up from the kitchen. Outside, the wind is beginning to pick up. Catherine doesn’t move, staring right back at Shamir. This is the closest proximity she’d ever been to her, she realizes, and all the humor from provoking a reaction with her nudity is already beginning to wear off.

“Lady Rhea told you?”

“No. I figured it out myself. Connecting the dots wasn’t so difficult once you arrived at Garreg Mach. I may not particularly care about Fòdlan’s politics, but I make it a habit of knowing what’s going on in recent history.”

Catherine slowly lets out a lungful of air, her breath momentarily condensing before her. “I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” Shamir says, once again turning over to face away from Catherine. “I’m not interested in blackmailing you, or anything of the sort. But isn’t it a bit hypocritical to judge others for hiding parts of their selves? You don’t hide your emotions well, Catherine, but I can guess what you’re thinking when you look at me.”

It feels like the wind’s been knocked out of her.

“… I don’t hate you either,” Catherine manages to say.

“That’s good to know.”

Shamir is far warmer than the crappy blanket covering them. Hesitantly, carefully, she inches a bit closer to her, so close that Catherine can smell the faint aroma of tea leaves and iron imprinted upon her skin and clothes.

“If we’re going to work together, I need to know that you’ll have my back. That’s all.”

She can hear Shamir’s soft breathing, too, rhythmic and steady. “I’ll have yours, if you’ll have mine.”

“Great! Being able to trust each other is what being partners is about, you know.”

“… Partners.”

“Shh, go to sleep. We’ll need our energy for tomorrow.”

* * *

Somehow, in the middle of the night, they’d become tangled with each other and Shamir is only a bit mortified to wake up to the sensation of Catherine breathing on her face. She tries to move and finds that she can’t, because Catherine is holding onto her.

Wonderful.

Blearily, Shamir turns her head to squint at the window. It’s still dark out; this is the hour when hunters rise, to move in quiet solitude before the sun lights their footsteps. But she’s not alone right now and she isn’t hunting. Catherine mumbles something in her sleep and pulls Shamir a bit closer, and though she’s still annoyed by the inconvenient arrangements, she decides to let her sleep in just a bit longer.


End file.
